The third Master
by PrunusPadus
Summary: Many years after Voldemort's downfall, Harry Potter, leader of the Ministry's Unspeakables, wants Severus Snape to vow to him his servitude. What is the nature of Harry's secret mission? Will Severus manage to capture the heart of Harry's lovely co-worker?
1. Chapter 1

1\. Once upon a time on a rainy afternoon in Manchester

When Harry Potter, famous war hero, Order of Merlin first class, Senior Captain of the Ministry's Unspeakables, and most powerful wizard in Britain wanted something, he usually got it.

In and of itself, this was not such a bad thing; Harry, who had been humbled by his humble upbringing, and softened rather than hardened by death, war and destruction, usually made reasonable demands. They more often than not contributed to goodness and decency, and she would never have considered working for him otherwise. However, that did not mean that they were easily accomplished. Which was why Hermione Granger, his first researcher and right hand woman found herself standing on the doorstep of a small antiques bookstore at the outskirt of Manchester on a rainy Saturday afternoon in the middle of October.

It was a dirty and grey street, and her hair was wet, but she had been looking forward to the bimonthly visit all week and was in good cheer. Juggling two paper cups in the crook of her arm, her entrance was marked by the merry jingling of the small doorbell. There were no customers and she grinned as she spotted the owner behind the battered counter.

"Here's your coffee, you old grouch."

The newly released convict, reformed Death Eater, and pariah to both the muggle and wizarding society, laid down 'The Times' and removed his wire-rimmed spectacles. He had ducked his dark head upon her arrival but she could still spy his half-hidden smile through the limp strands of his hair.

"Granger. You never give up, do you?"

It was his customary greeting. She smiled even wider as she made her way past disorderly stacks of unsorted books and wizarding journals, and plopped herself down on the other of the two chairs behind his dusty desk. She liked to think that he kept it there just for her. "I can't help myself, Severus; I've come to enjoy our little chats too much."

He accepted her offering; a double cappuccino with enough sugar to make her teeth hurt in sympathy, and she watched him remove the plastic lid and inhale deeply, briefly closing his eyes.

"I enjoy them as well," he murmured into his cup. "Though they're mostly monologues."

Hermione blew on her tea. PG Tips with milk, no sugar. She had spoken the truth. It had taken all of the eleven months since his release from Azkaban, but she had by stubborn persistence, tolerance, patience, and frequent bribery managed to build a rapport between them. Though it had been a deliberate effort, and hard work, she had come to enjoy her task. When not faced with megalomaniacs, cursed snakes, overly demanding employers, werewolves, Potters, Sirius Black, or teenagers, Severus Snape was decent company. His tongue could be sharp, yes, but more often than not, he was gentle and quiet. A slightly traumatised soul who knew to appreciate the little things in life. She would gladly call him her friend.

"How have you been, Severus? Any customers lately?"

He brushed off her question with a quirk of his shoulders. "What, Hermione? You're not going to try and persuade me this time?"

She looked at him, fondly noting the encroaching grey at his temples, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the slight paunch of his belly and the deep groove between his eyebrows. She regretted what she had to say.

"I'm sorry, Severus but I think this is your last opportunity to settle an agreement on your own terms. Harry is chomping at the bit, threatening to come and see you for himself. I suppose he will, unless you're willing to take the vow today."

She really was sorry. He had suffered enough at the hands of his two previous Masters, and she could not delude herself to believe that bringing him into the service of a third one would be good for him. Nevertheless, time was of the essence and Harry was getting desperate.

Severus rubbed a hand wearily over his eyes.

"I'm not whom I used to be, Hermione." He muttered, "You must tell him that. I've been away for ten years. I hardly do any magic these days, almost only household spells. I'm out of practice, and outdated. My nerves are… not so strong. I honestly don't think that I can help you."

He looked at her, worriedly, and she got up to squeeze his shoulder. He scowled at her and she rolled her eyes. He had almost completely stopped jumping when she touched him these days, but that was quite a recent development. Passing by his desk towards the closest bookcase and pausing only to discreetly vanish some dust (household spells indeed!), she withdrew a small paperback from the top shelf with familiar ease.

"Here, I'll read you a sonnet."

She never tried any harder to persuade him. He was a grown man and knew the terms, and, frankly, she was more interested in filling the glaring gap in his education that was Shakespeare. For someone so well versed in wizarding topics, he was surprisingly ignorant when it came to the classics of muggle literature. Along with atrocious dental hygiene, she considered it his most serious character flaw, and for a bookstore owner, even one specialised in potion recipes and herbology, it was very nearly unforgiveable. She eyed him sternly and waved the prized text in front of his face, which had taken on a far-away expression.

"Earth to grump. Now don't you get all miserable on me. I wanted to cover some poems about mortality and the afterlife today, but judging by your mope we'll have to make do with silly romance."

Severus sighed through his crooked nose but as she settled in her chair, he leaned back in his own comfortably and placed both of his feet atop the desk.

She began reverently to read 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day…', not noticing that his expression changed to one of wistful longing as he watched her face intently.


	2. Chapter 2

2\. Bully for you

"What's the progress with Snape, Hermione?"

The following Monday, Harry stood in the doorway to her office carrying a thick folder that she knew to contain sheet upon sheet of data on spells and curses cast by traced wands. Of all the cases they had been working on in the four years since Harry's promotion, this had been the most frustrating, and she could tell from the redness of the faint scar on his forehead and by the way his spiky black hair had been set on end that he was stressed.

"He won't consent willingly." She threw her ballpoint pen down and stretched. "He's afraid, of course. And I don't blame him one bit. If you want him to pledge his loyalty to you I find it a bit unfair to refuse him information on why you want his help, especially considering his history."

Harry twirled the Elder Wand between his fingers looking contrite and annoyed all at once. "I know, Hermione," he said, a slight frown on his face. "We've exhausted this discussion before, don't you think? I need Snape. One of the Malfoys won't do. I simply don't trust them not to find a loophole, especially Lucius. Besides, Draco is a father now. He has responsibilities. Snape is the logical choice."

He was right, the discussion was old, and they had thoroughly turned over every available option. She knew in her heart that Harry acted reasonably but it still felt wrong for her to pressure Severus in this way. Hermione huffed a breath. "I know, Harry. I've come to like him, is all. I just wish he could have some peace and quiet."

"So do I. Truly." Harry's voice was calmer now, sombre. He entered her office fully and transfigured a seat for himself with a silent flick and swish, the sleek steel and leather stool a reflection of his solemn mood.

"Does he still live on Spinner's End?"

She thought about it for a minute, picking up her ballpoint again to chew on its end. "I don't know actually."

She'd never visited Severus at home. Their meetings had always come about by her showing up at the bookstore, and his living arrangement had never been a topic of conversation. "It ought to be on record somewhere. I know he needs to report at the ministry every second month as a part of his early release terms."

Harry shifted. "Yeah, well. As I ought to know."

"Do you have any idea how to persuade him, Harry?"

Worrying his forehead, Harry got up to pace her office. The stool vanished without prompt. "The man lived a double life for twenty years out of guilt for my mother. Though he doesn't particularly like me _,_ I think it should be possible to appeal to his good side, especially now that he trusts you."

He tapped his fingers on her doorframe, seemingly decided. "We'll pay him a visit this evening. The both of us. Go to the Auror Office and dig up his address. I'll arrange a portkey from the atrium. Don't tell anyone where we're going."

With that, he left. Hermione once again threw down the pen, discarding paper shuffling as a bad job for the rest of the day. She needed practical work to help her ignore the queasy feeling in her stomach.

Later that day, they landed on a cracked and holey pavement facing a row of small identically derelict brown brick houses. The street was littered with dead leaves and garbage, and the chilly wind made eerie rustling noises as it disturbed old pieces of paper and dirty plastic bags. It was quite depressing.

"Isn't it odd that he wold still live here," said Harry, his thoughts apparently mirroring her own, "I know his memories of the place are not exactly the fondest."

Hermione looked around, thinking of the poor, odd, lonely boy that had been Severus Snape. A distance off to the left, there was a tall, ominous chimney overlooking the neighbourhood. She shook herself, pocketing the broken quill that had been their portkey, and they started in unison towards the second house on their right, black Ministry cloaks flapping and blending into the twilight.

"I suppose he hasn't had the time or money."

The front yard of 32 Spinner's End was covered in weeds, none of them magical. The windowpane in the wooden door was cracked, and there was no sign nor doorbell. Harry knocked on the window with his knuckles, casting her a reassuring look.

After a while the door opened abruptly, revealing Severus' tall, dark form. Slightly bemused, she noted that he was standing and frowning down at Harry in a way that reminded her of times long gone, when he had been their teacher in school.

She resisted the urge to tease him about it, the situation at hand being far too serious for such frivolities. She made a small smile instead, hoping to convey to him that she would take his side, not Harry's in the discussion that was bound to follow.

Harry, now a wizard in his prime, had not been intimidated by theatrics for many, many years. Prompted by the memory of his least favourite teacher, he confidently moved forward, backing Severus into the dimly lit hallway.

"Snape." He said, not breaking stride, "I'm sure you know why I'm here."

"Potter." Said Severus. His voice and eyes were cold and hard.

They followed the narrow hall straight into a small living room filled with bookshelves. The place was careworn and slightly dusty but there was a cosy fire in the small fireplace, which was obviously muggle. Either he preferred the privacy of not having a floo, or he did not expect to get visitors. Next to an armchair that sported the imprint of Severus' body, Hermione spotted an open wine bottle atop a low table, together with an open book and his reading glasses. She winced. The nature of their visit, along with Harry's headfirst demeanour must quite brutally have ruined a peaceful evening.

The urge to explore his bookshelves was strong but that would have been rude with Harry there. She also doubted she would get the opportunity.

"Drink, Snape?"

Harry had settled in one of the kitchen chairs uninvited, and had conjured a bottle of firewhiskey and three tumblers. Severus was again shooting him daggers, having frozen in place just inside of the hallway. Not minding the hard stare nor lack of answer, the self-invited guest levitated a tumbler towards their host, calling forth his powerful magic without a word nor a wand. Severus' expression turned from angry to wary in an instant, both of his eyes widening in astonishment. He cautiously accepted the drink, gaze never leaving Harry's hands. Hermione declined.

"So, how are things in the bookstore business? I must admit I was surprised that you didn't open an apothecary."

Harry's voice was calm, with a hint of curiosity. Apparently, he had realised that his direct approach was a bit too much. Hermione exhaled in mild relief.

Severus cleared his voice. "I'm hardly up to date on potion research these days," he said slowly, addressing Hermione instead of Harry. "There are many talented potioneers on the market, most of them with a better reputation than mine."

Hermione smiled. "I think it's brilliant, Severus. Imagine having a comprehensive library of all the known recipes. It's only a shame that you have to make money by selling them."

Severus snorted. "There's the small case of bread and butter."

Harry jumped at the opening, eagerly. "Speaking of. My Hermione has informed you that I would like to offer you another job, has she not?"

The frown was back in an instant. "Yes."

"I regret not being able to tell you more about it but the nature of our mission is such that it has to be kept secret for multiple reasons. Everyone involved has taken an oath of silence but for what I need you to do, it will be necessary to vow your servitude."

"Potter," said Severus, not unkindly, "I don't know what Hermione has told you about me," his eyes flicked towards her, "but I sincerely doubt that I can be of any assistance to you. You will recall that I have been without my wand and my magic for twelve years. Out of practice doesn't even begin to explain it."

Harry got up, gaining momentum. "What I need you for does not involve magic. Not yours in any case. And I will make my own vow to you that your services will only be used to promote what's good for both the muggle and the wizarding world."

Severus sighed loudly through his nose. "I don't doubt _you_ , you imbecilic twit. You are all a gang of inveterate do-gooders." He held out his empty glass towards Harry, who, though seemingly annoyed, indulged him with a healthy measure.

"If that is the case, why won't you help us, Snape? Frankly, you disappoint me."

Something flashed in Severus' eyes, reminding her of his impotent rage when they had rescued Sirius Black behind his back. He downed half his drink in one.

"In what way, exactly, do I disappoint the great and mighty chosen one?" The knuckles on the hand that held his glass were turning white.

Personally, she had grown accustomed to his dry, sometimes discourteous sense of humour, but Harry had never appreciated Severus' sarcasm. Probably because he had spent too much time on the brunt end of it during his formative years. She had to intervene.

"Harry," she said sensibly, "perhaps we ought to give Severus a bit more time to think about this-"

"I do not need to think," interrupted Severus angrily, "I need him," he pointed rudely at Harry "To explain this to me!"

Harry stepped forward. "Don't yell at Hermione." He jabbed a finger into Severus' chest. "I'll explain to you what you should think about, Snape. If you refuse to do this for me, you should think about what Dumbledore would have wanted. What _my mother_ would have wanted."

Severus face took on the same grey hue as the tattered lace curtains in the kitchen. "You think by whipping me with guilt you can bend me to your will? Guilt, Potter, and gaudy displays of power? Even Dumbledore wasn't _that_ crude."

Ugh. Hermione briefly closed her eyes. What was with these two, that made them into bickering old hens each and every time they came within shouting distance? Harry was bound to take major offense. He never stood by if anyone dared insult Dumbledore. She moved towards the door, hoping he would merely storm off in anger but alas, his body had gone deathly still.

"You ought not to speak ill of the dead, Snape." They were squaring off against each other, Severus' greasy black head now only slightly taller than Harrys' messy one. "Though he led your hand, you did the deed. I know what it takes to cast the killing curse."

Severus looked absolutely slapped but only for an instant. He next bared his crooked, yellow teeth in a contemptuous grimace. "I will tell you whether or not I agree," he began evenly, grasping Harry's elbow to shove him towards the hallway, "after you tell me What. You. Want."

Harry wrenched free from his grasp, whirling about. "Get off me! You bullied me as a child, Snape. But that was a long time ago, and I'll be damned if I let you manhandle me again."

Severus snorted in mock amusement. "Who is the bully here? You come into my home and try to push me to do your bidding, not deigning to inform me what service it is you require. Once again, your arrogance is astounding, Potter. You are nothing but a conceited blustering fool trying to fill the shoes of a manipulating bastard. Get the hell out of my home."

Severus tried again to push Harry towards the door but this time, Harry was too quick for him. Taking hold of the front of Severus' coat, he pushed the older man against the book-clad wall, quite effectively pinning him in place. The tumbler, along with a few books fell to the carpet with a dull thud and Hermione froze, her eyes wide. Everything except the two men's heavy breathing was quiet as they silently assessed each other, Severus grasping the hands that held him in place. Severus was the taller of the two, and broader. Harry though, was quicker, and very athletic. A moment passed.

"It's Captain Potter to you, Snape." Harry's face was red, Severus' unhealthily white. Thankfully, Severus remained still, aware that Harry had the upper hand.

"I can see why my mother chose to break ties with you." Said Harry. "The lack of moral fibre is disgusting." He let go of the buttoned frock coat as if he had been holding onto something repulsive and turned on his heel. Severus did not move, and she caught a look of weary resignation in his eyes. It made her heart bleed but she could not help but feel relieved that they had not drawn wands.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice was faint through the open door.

She sent Severus an apologetic look before hurrying after her colleague, resolving to return later in the evening, just to make sure he didn't do anything foolish. She was after all, as far as she knew, his only friend.


	3. Chapter 3

1\. Of canaries and cranberry biscuits

All and everything Potter could go ahead and well and truly fuck itself.

Severus Snape rubbed his chest where Potter had abused his coat, sending a silent apology to Dumbledore's ghost for his earlier disrespect. He'd never been able to stay his big mouth around Potter. Why, he had no idea. He'd always kept perfectly cool around the Dark Lord.

All other differences aside.

He picked up the three books and one tumbler that were the most recent victims of the Snape-Potter feud. The tumbler was fractured, and he threw it in the wastebasket. One of the books though, held his attention. He hadn't seen it for a long time. It was a biography of Merlin that had once belonged to his mother. It was worn, like everything else he owned, and not rare. He only kept it for its cover, where Eileen Prince's signature was engraved with spiky letters. He traced the writing with a finger.

Potter's mother was also dead, she too by tragic circumstances. It was his fault of course, but it was never a good idea to dwell on that.

He busied himself with eating a sandwich and doing the dishes simultaneously, a bad habit brought on by years of living alone, until another disturbing thought surfaced in his mind, unbidden.

Did the mysterious mission Potter needed help with have anything to do with _her_?

Why had he not thought of that before? It was after all she who had been the one to contact him in Potter's stead. She was never pushy about it, but would it not be typical of Dumbledore's successor to secure his compliance by using the woman he…

Well that, apparently, was a discussion for another day. But the thought had given him pause. Perhaps he ought to seek out Potter and attempt another conversation? Perhaps. But not yet. He was too agitated now.

But something else was also gnawing at his frazzled nerves. Yes, he'd been upset at the time but he was positive that Potter had called her 'My Hermione'.

Were she and Potter an item?

It stood to reason if they were. He shouldn't even feel disappointed. Potter was rich, powerful and handsome, and to be painfully honest, not all that stupid either. He ought to be a catch for many a young woman. And Hermione… well, who _wouldn't_ want her?

To hell with all things Potter and his flamboyant magic and youthful body. Why was it that a Potter always got in the way of his…

He growled aloud. He must not do this.

This was _exactly_ how one's heart got broken.

Before he could work himself into a state, he went to the bathroom on the first floor and sampled a large dose of the Draught of Peace. He felt weary these days. Not like himself. Was he just getting old? Or was his magic acting up again? He counted breaths as his heartbeat settled into a quieter, more even rhythm.

Over the sink was a small crackled mirror, greying with corrosion and age. A tired, ugly face stared at him, the discomforting resemblance to Tobias Snape only growing as the years went by. He swore there and then to never shorten his hair or grow a beard.

Severus unbuttoned his frock coat and shirt as he walked down to the kitchen table, the creaking of the stairs seeming loud in the otherwise quiet house. He dropped his clothes onto one of the chairs and sat down on the other in nothing but his trousers and a greying old T-shirt.

Potter had conveniently forgotten his firewhiskey on the table, which actually went quite a while in mending the disturbance his visit had wrought. Severus reached for the packet of fags and the lighter that he'd left on the windowsill, and filled Potter's glass, which had somehow escaped his fit of housecleaning, to the brim.

"Cheers, you royal pain in the arse."

He next entertained himself with drinking and smoking under the pretence of redeeming Potter until he heard a sound that belonged to spring and sun and warmth. He looked up from his drink.

It was the music of a bright and yellow canary, flying about in merry circles around his darkened living room, its mild trills filling his house like laughter. As he watched it, the bird floated towards him, and settled on his left shoulder, looking up expectantly with round, lively eyes. A small note appeared in its beak.

The magic was beautiful and clever, and he knew at once that it belonged to Hermione. He carefully collected the note with his big fingers, slightly saddened when the little canary vanished in a puff of feathers.

His eyesight had always been marginal and Hermione's miniscule and efficient handwriting was very nearly unintelligible to him. He quite vividly recalled her essays from Hogwarts. At times, her never-ending scrolls had even contained shorthand. They had been the bane of his existence back then. Barring everything Potter. Naturally. But he digressed.

Squinting, he deciphered the note.

 _Dear Severus,_

 _I'm terribly sorry I left in such a hurry earlier today. If you are feeling in the mood for company, I'll make it up to you with tea._

 _I'll be waiting outside your house._

 _Love, Hermione_

There was an odd, tickling sensation in his stomach. Did he have indigestion?

He glanced at the table. Potter's bottle was more than half-empty but luckily, he'd always been able to hold his whiskey. He took after Mother rather than Father in that respect.

Light footsteps brought him to the door, a new spring in his heart.

Hermione stood on the steps of number 32, Spinner's End for the second time that Monday, having charmed the portkey'd quill from earlier that day into a message for Severus.

She felt both nervous and excited, and wished with all of her heart that he would forgive her for bringing the full force of Harry Potter down on his poor abused head. Hopefully, he hadn't decided to get himself royally pissed. She knew it was a habit of his to drink if he was feeling low, having smelled the hangover on him a couple of times in the bookstore.

If he were drunk, she'd probably be unwelcome, which would be a big shame. She'd put on a skirt, spent an entire half-hour trying to tame her hair, and under her arm was a tin of cranberry biscuits. She'd baked them herself, with much fuss, knowing they were his mortal weakness.

The door opened and he smiled at her. _Smiled_. He had taken off his heavy coat, and was instead wearing a soft shirt that allowed her to make out the shape of his body. Her heart did a backflip and fainted.

"Are you not angry?"

He waved her off. "Potter has always been able to rile me up. I rile him up as well. It's become habit by now."

She couldn't hide her grin even if she had wanted to. "Not Harry. Angry with _me_ , you berk!"

He beckoned her inside the dark, now familiar hallway. "Of course not. What's that you got there?"

She held up the tin. "I made biscuits."

His eyebrows went up. "For me?"

"Of course." She removed her coat. "It's cranberry."

"Mother used to make those." He murmured, smelling the tin. "With sugar on top. They were lovely."

"I know. I felt so bad about before." She took his hand and led him into the living room. "I consider you one of my closest friends, you know. It was wrong of me not to back you up against Harry."

He had stopped. She looked up and to her astonishment, saw that his eyes were slightly glassy. He quickly turned away, muttering about 'needing some air' and fled out onto the back porch.

She couldn't help but take pleasure from his reaction.

When he finished, she had set the small living room table with tea and biscuits, easily having picked her way in the small kitchen.

"You shouldn't smoke so much. It's not good for you."

He grunted, settling into the chair that was moulded to his shape.

She slowly walked the perimeter of his shelves as they drank their tea, scanning the titles. "You have so many books." She came to a halt just beside his chair. "How come they are all magical?"

He looked up at her, leaning back. "They mostly belonged to my mother. She was a witch. My father was muggle but he didn't read. That is," he amended, "what he read was not worth keeping."

It was odd to look down on him, being as he was so much taller than her when they stood. She knew from before that his irises were brown, but up close, she could see that there were tiny specks of an almost black in them, close to the pupils and along the rim. He had heavy eyelids and his eyes were not large or striking but very expressive. The scars on his throat were white.

"Father worked at the Mill. That's the large chimney down the road."

She suddenly wanted to reach out and touch his hair. Would the silver feel just as soft as the black would?

"He didn't like books or words… Preferred to express himself physically, I suppose." Severus reached for a biscuit.

She watched him take a bite, catching a glimpse of his teeth. They were not dirty, merely discoloured. Awfully crooked and chipped though. Had he ever seen a dentist? His left maxillary first premolar was missing entirely. Had someone once given him a right hook punch? Her parents, bless their souls, would have had a field day with him. She hummed to herself. They gave him character, those teeth.

"Why are you staring?" Suddenly, Severus, was eying her suspiciously. "Do I have something on my face?"

"It's nothing," Oh, pants. Now she was blushing. "Your teeth are nice." Gads! What was _wrong_ with her? _Insipid_.

"My teeth are _what_?" He seemed stunned, then alarmed. "Are you quite all right?" He leaned over, placing the back of his hand on her forehead before glancing at his wristwatch, clearly confused. "It's nearly twelve. Perhaps you ought to go home and lie down?"

Laughing shrilly, she hid her face in her wild hair. At least it was making itself useful. "Yes, I'd better go."

They both started for the door and on impulse, she turned and embraced his waist in a tight hug, squeezing from him a startled 'oof'.

"Goodnight, Severus." She quickly let go and hurried out into the night, carrying in her heart the scent of cigarettes and firewhiskey.


	4. Chapter 4

4\. Burnt

There was a snake in his dream.

He hated snakes.

He hated snakes in the same way that he hated werewolves. They were innocent creatures really, he knew this, intellectually. Animalistic instincts guided their desires and behaviours. He'd given this a lot of thought. They were not evil creatures, at least not in and of their own. No, it was not their nature that he hated.

What he hated was the way in which they were utterly, utterly terrifying.

The dream was of the kind where one knows one is asleep but yet is unable to wake. He was aware that he was in his bed, that he was tangled up in sheets, and that he felt clammy. He could even keep up a reasonably lucid internal monologue. But all the same, he was powerless against the dream-snake, could only attempt to run from it, even though it seemed that every step forward brought him two steps back.

Somehow though, it had occurred to him in his dream-induced dread, that something seemed wrong. Something else entirely. Something wrong that was not related to beasts of any kind. There was something familiar about it, something…

A smell…

His body released him and he was awake.

 _Smoke._

He instantly jumped from the bed, staggering with light-headedness from the drop in blood pressure.

Why was there smoke in his bedroom?

His wand was on the nightstand, and he took it, casting _lumos_ to aid him in the search for his clothes. The spell failed; sickly yellow flicking and dying at the wand's tip.

 _Bugger it_.

He put it in his pocket as he dressed haphazardly. The smoke got thicker as he entered the hallway, nearly enough to suffocate him. It was difficult to see and he tripped on a loose floorboard, falling hard on his knees.

Lower down, it was easier to breathe. From his new position, he was able to spot the flames coming up from the stairs.

How on Earth could bricks and mortar burn?

It would be impossible to get to the ground floor without protection, and to put out the fire he would need an _aquamenti_ of Dumbledore's proportions. Or the Dark Lord's, alternatively. They were both powerful and he wasn't about to be picky. Hell, he'd even take Potter at this point. He knew though, with certainty, that his own spells wouldn't do.

Surely, this fire had to be magical?

He turned about, hurrying back into the bedroom with aim for the window. It was stuck, of course, rusted in place, but urgency gave him strength and as he put his shoulder to it, it gave way into the night, rattling on its hinges. He looked down. There was no moon and he could barely make out the ground, blinded as he was by the light from the fire. His bedroom was on the first floor but he knew that the fall was longer than he would have liked.

He couldn't risk taking flight. His magic was too unpredictable these days, and that particular spell would not be dark in its intent.

Below the window, in his back yard, was an old dilapidated shed. Many of the planks on the roof though, were rotted and broken, and they would probably not be able to hold his weight. He hesitated until a racket from behind made him turn his head. The door to his bedroom was catching flame, the brass handle already glowing red from the heat.

Were someone intending to finish him off?

He squeezed through the window, holding onto his mother's lace curtain. Once out, he let himself carefully down on the roof of the shed, managing to balance precariously on two of the roof boards while supporting himself on the rain gutter that led water to the ground.

As he let go, the boards promptly gave way, depositing him on the shed's floor, arse first. He even managed to bite the inside of his cheek in the process, and could feel the coppery taste of blood on his tongue.

"Well, fuck."

With all of this falling down that he did, he would probably need a multitude of painkillers, come morning. Too bad they were burning together with his home.

Slowly, he got to his feet, brushing off his fingers. Well, he wasn't one to mourn over spilled potions. He'd done enough of that at Hogwarts, teaching first-years. The house could go to hell. His books however, were an entirely different matter.

He quickly forgot about the books though, as someone suddenly seized him around the neck, pressing something hard and pointy into his throat, just beneath his jaw.

The attacker was about to talk, he faintly sensed that they were drawing breath, but the feeling of restriction of the movement of his head _(Cage!)_ together with something pressing into his throat _(Fangs!)_ was just too fucking much.

Mad with panic and rage, he tore the wand from his attacker's hand, his force so fierce that the wood snapped and showered them both with yellow and blue sparks.

The attacker was on him in an instant, apparently expecting resistance. It was a large man in his early twenties wearing muggle jeans and a T-shirt, his eyes grey and angry. He had taken hold of Severus' coat and his right wrist, wrestling to keep him from reaching the wand in his pocket.

Apart from the time when he'd been eighteen and had been drawn by Lucius into a drunken brawl at the Leaky Cauldron, Severus hadn't been in a fist fight since primary school. There had been many a son of a millworker on Spinner's End in his youth. Hardened sons of hardened fathers, most of them infinitely brawnier than the browbeaten bookish boy of number 32. They had all kicked the shite out of him.

If he only could reach his wand, he'd show them.

His vision suddenly swam as a staggering blow hit him straight in the gut. He doubled over, all of his efforts concentrated on regaining his breath. His attacker unfortunately, was clever enough not to stand by and gloat. He raised his knee quickly, catching Severus' nose. The impact was hard and a sickening snap rung in his head as his nasal bone broke.

 _Bloody buggering fuck, not again!_

He realised that this probably would end badly. Beaten to death by a stranger, without even the curtsey of knowing _why_ , just outside of his own home, and with muggle means. It would be extremely humiliating.

Humiliating, and a very suitable end to his life.

For a moment, all he could do was to cling to his attacker's arm, holding on like a babe to its mother.

But it was then that he saw it.

There, on the young man's skin, on the inside of his lower left arm, just above the wrist, was a magical black brand. It was eerily similar to his own.

The world stopped. His mind raced.

Was this man a Death Eater attempting to deliver justice to the Dark Lord's traitor? Impossible. He would have been a mere child at the end of the war.

Had the Dark Lord himself returned?

Never had he felt such fear. There would be no mere kicking to death if the Dark Lord got hold of him. He would be tortured in the worst ways imaginable. Stripped of his sanity and dignity. Cast away to rot.

"Did you get him?"

Another young man had entered the back yard, and his intended assassin looked away.

The distraction lasted only a second, but it was enough.

Severus clasped his wand and cast _sectumsempra_ , intending harm and destruction, and the power of his spell was such, that it nearly tore the young man in two. The other boy fled, panic contorting his face into a primal grimace as he disapparated.

Severus watched the body, unable to move. The nauseating tang of blood filled his nose, and mouth, and lungs, reminding him who he was.

He sat on the ground.

Tremors were creeping up on him as the adrenaline rush faded. His fear was just as great as before.

If the Dark Lord had returned, Hermione would be in danger, just like he.

Perhaps even more.

He had to see Potter.


	5. Chapter 5

5\. Consequences

The apparation to the small park at Grimmauld Place easily made top five of his most jarring magical transportations. To make sure his temperamental magic would cooperate, he'd been forced to interlace dark crafts into the intent of his spellwork.

That meant something had to be offered in payment.

He'd made a traditional blood sacrifice, which was far more common in potion making, where the offering could be added to directly to the cauldron. However, it worked just fine for spells as well, which was one of the reasons why the dark arts were so lethal, and which was why he was sitting on a white metal park-bench, trying to tie a dirty sock around the place where his right big toe had once been.

He'd focused on his right littlest one but the magic he'd spent had obviously required a somewhat bigger sacrifice than he'd thought. After all, the distance from Manchester to London was nearly one hundred and sixty miles, as crows fly.

There was a small fountain in the centre of the park, and when he was satisfied with his improvised compress, he limped over to wash his face and hands clean from the blood. He let his fractured nose be. It was unlikely that it could get any uglier than it already was. Besides, he didn't fancy spending dark magic to heal it; he only had nine toes left, and intended to keep them all as long as he could help it.

Number 12 was visible to him across the street with its darkened bricks and rusted wrought-iron fence. He'd never liked the place, and suddenly found himself doubting his decision. Did Potter even live here anymore? He'd acted rashly and out of fear to come here, and now he had to swallow his pride.

If the Dark lord was alive though, Potter would know.

He crossed the street and trod onto the familiar front step. A large lion holding onto a brass ring had replaced the old Black family-crest knocker. It snarled at him, folding back its ears in warning. Ah, so Potter _did_ live here. He avoided touching it, knowing that he'd already set off a small handful of wards.

After a moment, Potter opened. Calmly, he looked down at his unexpected guest, leaning lightly against the doorframe.

Instinctively, Severus attempted legillimency, only to find himself promptly blocked.

 _Shite_. He probably shouldn't have done that.

He watched warily as Potter straightened and crossed his arms in front of his chest, a frown on his face. There was no wand in his hand, but as he'd learned not even a week ago, Potter didn't need one. _Bugger and shite_. He should apologise for the legillimency. And for his crass words the last time they had met. Try to be polite for once.

"Has the Dark Lord returned?"

Potter started at the rushed question, his body tensing.

"No." Green eyes searched Severus' face, alarmed. Potter caught hold of his arm. "No! Are you insane? What would make you say that?"

Oh.

Actually, he did sometimes wonder. He had been prone to the occasional fit of paranoia ever since his teenage years. It had been a major hindrance during the wars, really, the problem being that his fears became somewhat irrational. During his tenure in Azkaban, the Dark Lord's return had been a recurring theme, even though Shacklebolt had long ago reformed the prison and thrown out the dementors. Apparently, he didn't need _them_ to remind him of his terrors.

He licked his dried-up lips, ill at ease.

"Snape," said Potter earnestly, relaxing slightly. "Voldemort is dead." He released Severus' coat, patting his shoulder brusquely in the process. "Now, you seem upset. Tell me what's happened."

Never before had he imagined that he'd find comfort in a Potter, but here he was. He looked up, half expecting the sky to fall on his head. But it was dark out, and he couldn't see anything except lights from the neighbours' windows.

"I killed someone." He said at length, reality setting in. "It was a young man. They…" He looked at Pottter's face, checking for a response, but the green eyes were expressionless. "They wore the dark mark. At least, that's what I thought they did."

"I see." Potter rubbed a hand over his scarred forehead. He was not a mere boy any longer; Severus could tell. Even in blue-striped pyjamas, Potter had managed to keep his cool better than he would have.

"Where exactly did this happen?" Potter was reaching for his cloak

"At home. They set my house on fire."

"Right." Said Potter. "I will tidy this mess for you, but I expect your cooperation in return."

Severus looked into Potter's face. There was no compromise in Lily's eyes. "You have it." He could hear the resignation in his own voice.

Potter eased the cloak onto his shoulders, not minding about his pyjama. "You will take an oath tonight then?"

Severus nodded once. "I will."

"Good." Said Potter, all business. "I'll wake Hermione and bring her along; we'll need her to seal the vow. Won't you come in in the meantime?"

Severus looked inside the familiar hallway. It was the same house, yet different. Soft lights shone down from the first floor. He could hear a small child crying, and the cooing song of a woman.

"No, I'll stay here."

Potter looked only slightly suspicious. "Don't go anywhere. My wards won't let you."

Then he was gone with hardly any sound at all.

Severus exhaled sharply. Not even a year since his release and he'd gone ahead and made himself a murderer again. With shaking hands, he fished out a fag from the packet in his coat pocket, fumbling to light it. What would Hermione think of him? There was no way that he'd gain her affection now; he didn't know much of what qualities she looked for in a man, but wonted killer was not one. Of that, he was sure. Locked back up in Azkaban probably wouldn't do much for his chances either, not even mentioning his ill-tempered personality or the way he was old, and ugly as sin.

At least he would get to see her again tonight.

He sat on the front step, still as the night around him. Had a muggle happened to pass him by, they would not have noticed his presence but for the scent of Players No6.

…

Sometime later, a sound made him startle sharply. Did he doze off? He lifted his head from the wrought-iron railing to see two familiar figures on the street below him. Potter beckoned him over, extending his arm.

"Take hold. We're going to the Ministry."

Hermione smiled up at him, her hair messed up prettily. He tried to return the favour but failed miserably, hoping that she wouldn't take notice as Potter promptly apparated them all directly inside of the Department of Mysteries.

To his surprise, Potter's office was rather bland. There was very little that was mysterious about the stacks of ordinary paper folders, the muggle Computer, and the dried-out houseplants.

They sat down around an ordinary round table with an ordinary, ugly, brown-and-yellow tablecloth on top. It somehow made him think of Molly Weasley. Hermione made tea with biscuits.

Potter turned then, his chair scraping on the tiled floor. "I've made the remains of your house unplottable. And removed the body." He reached into his pocket and put a severed ash wand on the table. "The man was one of the vigilantes. Peter MacLean."

"Vigilantes? Who the hell are they?"

Potter looked surprised. "After Tracie Mair was instated five years back, the political environment has turned increasingly pro-muggle. The 'Mair vigilantes' are a group of extremists, mainly young people, who has made it their cause to hurry along her politics. Don't you read _The Daily Prophet_?"

Well, now that Potter had mentioned it, he may have 'neglected' to renew his subscription after his release. Money had been short, and after twelve years in prison, he was accustomed not to pay attention to the world around him.

"Who's this Mair woman then?" he demanded.

Potter rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Why, she's the Minister of Magic of course!"

Severus felt his hackles rise. Powerful or not, Potter could make saints swear! Before he could speak though, Hermione had abruptly shoved a cup of milky tea into his hands, silencing both him and Potter with a frown. "Mair started a reform back in 2008 to gradually merge the wizarding world with the Muggle one," she lectured. "The 'Decree of Union' states that over a period of ten to twenty years, muggle science and technology shall be integrated into the wizarding world. At present, it's happening mostly at people's workplaces. For instance, everyone here at the Ministry are learning to use personal computers." She pulled over a chair to sit between him and Potter, as a form of human barrier.

"The vigilantes are terrorists though," said Potter. "They demand immediate exposure of the wizarding world. To pressure Mair, they have made several attacks on pure-blooded families and on gatherings involving elitist members of wizarding high society."

Words failed him. "Indeed."

"Harry was not aware that you didn't know this, Severus," Hermione said. "Neither was I. He thought that you suspected that our mission was connected to the vigilantes."

Severus suddenly felt old and weary, the eventful night catching up on him. "I suppose it does then?" He sighed heavily, not really interested in the answer. "Potter, is Lucius Malfoy still imprisoned?"

Hermione and Potter exchanged a look. Severus was aware that the question was out of place, but he had not forgotten that there was an oath to seal. That meant he needed some answers.

"No," said Potter. "He was released five years ago. Unlike you, he wasn't ruled guilty of murder. He has retired now; lives as a recluse at their old estate." Potter adjusted his chair, so that they were facing each other.

"We can talk more on Monday. Once you've taken the vow I can explain everything to you." He extended his hand, palm up. "Let's do this, shall we? Hermione?"

Severus swallowed, taking hold of Potter's arm, so that their pulse points were touching. His arm was trembling and he had the uncomfortable feeling of not having complete control over his body. Next to him, Hermione produced her wand.

Without further ado, she locked eyes. "Do you, Severus Snape, swear to obey by Harry Potter's wishes in any case pertaining to the Mair Vigilantes?"

A blue cord of light encircled their arms. He took a shaky breath.

"I swear it."

The cord disappeared into their skin.

She turned to Potter. "Do you, Harry Potter, promise not to abuse your power, and to use it only to promote muggle and wizarding welfare?"

Another cord appeared.

"This I promise."

As the light faded from their wrists, he felt the magic settle between them. He looked warily at his new Master, rubbing sweaty palms on the thighs of his trousers.

Potter smiled, almost bashful. "I suppose you need someplace to stay tonight?"

He was about to respond that right now, Potter could go ahead and hang, when Hermione once again interrupted.

"He's coming with me."

Potter looked at her, uncertainly. "If you're sure, Hermione? We've got plenty of spare rooms at home."

"Absolutely, Harry." She said with certainty, and Severus had rarely felt such gratitude.

"One more thing, Snape." Potter, who was obviously not finished with him, took hold of his arm, dragging him into a far corner, out of Hermione's hearing range. He went straight for the throat. "I caught traces of dark magic at your house," he said urgently. "I'm assuming it was yours?"

Severus nodded once.

Potter sighed. "You can't go about throwing curses and killing and maiming like that," he insisted. "There will be consequences. The war is _over_. It was over a long time ago."

Severus stayed quite still. Potter was perhaps right. He had panicked upon being attacked. That was when one made grave errors in judgement. It may not have been necessary to kill. The thought was upsetting. Did he even belong among free men anymore?

"Duly noted," he murmured.

Potter nodded. "Alright. I'll get you out of this one, Snape, but I won't do it again. Indirectly, you work for the Ministry now, so watch it."

Potter released his arm and turned to Hermione, who was observing them attentively. "Hermione, I need to go into the archives and delete Snape's wand trace. No one must know which spells he cast tonight or he'll go straight to Azkaban."

She nodded and waved her hand in dismissal.

"I'll see you both on Monday." Said Potter, and was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

6\. In the still of the night

Hermione's flat was small, and very, very clean.

Severus stood in the middle of her living room, allowing the pain-relieving potion she had given him time to take effect. He felt big and a bit out of place among her dainty furniture.

He also felt rather lucky. Out of all the things he'd learned this night, one now stood out to him like a beacon:

She and Potter were definitely not together.

Actually, there were no signs of a male presence in her flat. It was sparsely decorated but with a distinctly feminine touch. She had charmed several bluebell flames upon their arrival, and they filled the room with a dimmed blueish light.

She had many books, stacked neatly in shelves. The only work-related object was a small desk near the living room window. There was nothing on it though, except a few papers and a rectangular flat object connected to an electrical cord. There was a small framed photograph on the mantle, picturing her with Potter and Ronald Weasley. It looked quite recent.

His eyes strayed to the gentle curve of Hermione's back as she prepared something to eat in the small, spick-and-span kitchen. Beneath her official cloak, she had been wearing pyjamas and slippers. It felt very intimate that she would allow him to see her sleepwear.

He straightened. Apparently, he needed to distract himself.

"Exactly when did Potter get this demanding?"

She expertly changed the filter of a coffee maker, which looked like it had flown directly out of 'Star Wars'. He felt a brief pang of loss for his old orange Moccamaster. Stains and everything.

"Harry thinks you're a great hero, Severus."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Well _I_ think he has a hard time of showing it."

"It's true." Hermione turned. "I suppose the thing is," she said, frowning, "that in Harry's world, you can't retire from being a hero. He thought you'd be perfectly willing to help because of what you did in the war."

He leaned his shoulder on the kitchen doorframe as the promising aroma of coffee filled the air. "Does he think it's a chronic disease? Those were never acts of heroism, not in any way. For someone so powerful, he's a pitiable judge of character. Always was, the twit."

She smacked his arm with a rag. He smirked, catching it. She shook her head. "Shut it, you git. Now, go and sit down."

There was a perch in the kitchen, inhabited by a small tawny. It was watching him with round, yellow eyes.

"Wait. Hermione, may I borrow your owl?"

"Of course, Severus." She said distractedly, pouring the coffee. "Her name is Dizzy. Just let her out the window there."

Honestly. What was with this woman and terrible pet names? She'd had a cat at one point he recalled, in school, with another odd name. He couldn't quite remember, but it had something to do with being deformed. Poor beast.

He undid his dirty coat and draped it over a chair. Somehow, his reading glasses had miraculously survived the fire, safely tucked into the inside pocket. He swiftly penned a note with one of Hermione's ballpoints, and petted poor Dizzy's neck.

"Such a pretty little lady too."

She hooted softly, lightly nibbling his finger before taking flight.

When he looked back up, Hermione was watching him.

"Why haven't you healed your nose?"

He grimaced, not yet willing to tell her everything about his impaired magic. "Maybe I was hoping you would do it?"

Her hands went to her hips but he could tell that she was supressing a smile. "Oh, really?" She moved to the sofa. "That's presumptuous of you. But if you sit down, I might oblige."

He did as he was told, closing his eyes when her soft fingers reached out to feel his face.

"It's broken." She was incredibly close and he relished the feel of her warmth against his left thigh. "Just a moment." There was a quiet swish, and his nose straightened with a snap. He opened his eyes.

"There, all better." Her face was so close that he could count the small freckles on her nose, and for a moment, neither of them drew away. He inhaled her breath, his mind screaming _touch her!_ But he had hesitated for too long, and when he blinked, she had pulled back to crouch on the floor.

"Now your foot."

As she set to work on the sacrificed toe, she lectured him on the benefits of incorporating muggle science and technology into the wizarding world. In her view, the wizarding world was backwards in its ways and beliefs, a conviction she underlined by waving his new compress around and through frequent usage of the phrases 'terribly inefficient' and 'dreadfully old-fashioned'.

Severus didn't know up from down anymore. A new world order seemed to be in the making, and he'd been oblivious to it. It was quite frightening. At this point, he couldn't see how it was going to work. Either, Hermione was incredibly naïve, or he was one big pessimist. However, as she laid out about the 'internet', and international trade, and globalisation, he could gradually understand that the merging with muggle society probably was inevitable.

The feeling was of being shanghaied. The world had changed. For good or for evil, he had no idea but here he was, just the same as before.

They drank coffee, and ate, and talked some more until she fell asleep in her chair.

She had curled up like a cat, her head on the armrest. How someone could sleep in that position was a complete mystery to him but he didn't want to wake her, so he left her be, draping a blanket around her shoulders.

He used her facilities, took a shower, and upturned the vial of draught of peace that he'd found in her bathroom cabinet.

His mind quieted and he laid down on the sofa.

He could recall Hermione's nimble fingers as she tended to his nose and his foot. He'd caught the scent of PG tips, and flowers from her bent head. Her hair was beautiful. Wild, like a lion's mane. But her ways and her touch were soft and gentle. She was lovely.

He fell asleep watching her, and his rest was carefree and sweet.


	7. Chapter 7

7\. A catching up over ice-cream

She awoke much, much later than she usually did, relieved it was a Sunday, and straightened gingerly so as not to further upset the crick in her neck.

The first thing she saw was Severus, snoring lightly on the sofa, just opposite her chair. She smiled, removing the blanket he must have placed on her sometime during the night. Of course the man would snore, with that silly nose of his.

She tiptoed to the kitchen so as not to wake him, her habitual eight o'clock-coffee now several hours overdue. She found Dizzy outside of the window, proudly displaying a small ball of fur along with the rolled-up parchment that was attached to her leg.

"A vole. Good for you."

She unrolled the letter. It was brief, the penmanship refined.

 _Florean Fortescue's at noon._

It was for Severus then. She wondered vaguely who it was that wanted to meet him _there_ , of all places.

Coffee in hand, she put the note on the low table in the living room. Severus was still asleep, looking quite relaxed. One long arm lay stretched out past his head, the other rested on his stomach. His cotton shirt was sleeveless, and she could see the faint outline of the faded dark mark on the inside of his left wrist.

His face was also relaxed. He usually had such a strict look upon him. So _severe_. She chuckled lowly. Had his mother known instantly the nature of her boy and named him thereafter? Or had she merely guessed at the ways in which his life would shape him? Both seemed a bit fatalistic actually, now that she thought about it. Somewhat unfair.

Hermione checked the watch on her kitchen wall. It was nearly eleven. She would have to wake him if he had somewhere to be at noon.

She sat down on the table, close to his head. Indulging her fancy, she carefully captured a lock of his hair between her fingers. He wore it long, almost down to his shoulders. It was just as soft as she had known it would be, and only slightly greasy. She smelled it, recognising her favoured floral scent, and snorted as she realised he must have used her soap bar on his hair, not minding the shampoo.

She understood what it was now, this fascination she had with him. She wanted to be near him, and touch him, and know things about him. To think, she was even fascinated with his teeth, of all things. Her parents' profession aside.

Yes, she knew what it was. But she had a suspicion that he was attracted to her as well.

She released the small lock to weave her fingers through the hair close to his temples. The grey suited him; it softened his appearance. There was grey in the stubble on his face too. She could see it amongst the black if she leaned close, especially on his chin. She petted the hair on his head once more; –would she get such an opportunity again? - until he grunted, and took hold of her hand.

He drew back a little to look up at her, straining his eyes. "Hermione?" His voice was deep and scratchy from disuse.

"Hello there, slugabed."

He looked out the window, squinting against the bright light and released her hand to sit up. "As if _you_ were up all morning," he growled, scowling. "You're fooling no one; I can see the imprint of the chair on your cheek."

Her hand flew involuntarily to her face, and she blushed the tiniest bit, realising she must look a sight with her unkempt hair and tatty pyjamas, and probably with drool on her chin.

She shoved her own coffee into his hands, and straightened. "Morning person, are we?" She turned to retrieve his letter, missing the flash of apology in his eyes. "Dizzy brought you this. It seems you're in a bit of a hurry, so I'll make us a quick breakfast."

"Oh, good." He read the note, holding it close to his face. Then he stretched languidly, giving her the chills when his arched back produced several loud pops.

As his shirt rode up though, she caught sight of pale skin, and a dark line of hair that led down past the waistband of his trousers.

She wouldn't mind following that trail. She rather thought it might cure his morning grouchiness as well.

He caught her looking then, and it was his turn to blush. He lowered his arms quickly. "Is there a Sainsbury's nearby?" He touched his face. "I need to shave."

"No, but Tesco is just around the corner. Do you need money?"

He stood up from the sofa. "I've got a Visa." He leaned close, and to her surprise, kissed the top of her head. "But thank you. And thank you for having me."

She smiled, lingering to watch his back as he retreated to the bathroom before she went to the kitchen to prepare toast and eggs.

…

As Severus walked into Florean Fortescue's later that morning, he spotted not only one, but two white-blonde heads next to the display of available ice-cream flavours.

The sight when they turned brought him twenty years back in time. The small boy at Lucius' side had darker eyes, and a longer face and fuller lips, but the resemblance to Draco was staggering. For a moment, all he could do was stand there, looking his fill, and blinking against the lint that somehow had gotten into his eye.

Being a gentleman, Lucius turned his back to resume the perusal of Fortescue's wares.

"Hello there." Severus crouched down to the boy's height. "My name is Severus. I'm an old friend of your Grandpa."

The boy faced him, fingering a toy wand in his small hands. He did not seem shy but the look in his eye wasn't trustful either.

"I'm Scorpius Malfoy."

"Of course you are." Said Severus, adjusting his position. "And aren't you a handsome young man. Now, what's that you got there?" He pointed at the toy. "Did Grandfather give it to you?"

Scorpius proudly displayed the wand. "No, it was Grandma. Grandpa says I'm too little to have one, but Grandma says that Grandpa is a sissy." He considered for a moment. "That's the same as being a cry-baby."

Severus chuckled. "I'm sure you can do wonderful magic with it."

"No, silly. This is just a toy," said Scorpius, frowning. "But when I'm eleven, I'll get a real wand from Olivander's." He drew himself up to his full 46 inches. "Then I'll be a wizard like Daddy, and _then_ ," He aimed the wand at Severus' chest, wielding it with the dramatic flair of a true Malfoy. Fierce green sparks sputtered from its tip. "I'll defeat you!"

Severus looked up, meeting Lucius' proud gaze. They both smiled.

"Yes." He told Scorpius. "Yes, I'm sure you will. You'll be right good at it too, better even than Daddy."

"That's right. You best watch out, Severus," said the elder Malfoy. "Though I hear that you have not returned to teaching?"

Severus straightened. "It won't be too soon if I never see Hogwarts again," he nodded towards Scorpius. "Though I can see now that I'll be missing out." He held out his hand.

Lucius shook it, looking him up and down. "Azkaban treated you reasonably well, I see."

Severus returned the appraisal. There were a few more lines around Lucius' eyes, and where his own hair was going grey, Lucius' was sporting a fair few white hairs among the blond. His eyes were less haughty than in his youth, and spoke of battles fought and fears faced. That had changed irrevocably during the winter of 1998. The Malfoy handsomeness, though, had not been beaten from him, and he cut the same immaculate figure that he always had.

"Potter said you have retired. I'd leave you in peace, Lucius but I have landed myself in a bit of a predicament."

They found an available stall, and Lucius brought chocolate ice cream for Scorpius and tea for the adults. There were quite a few customers despite the autumn chill, but most of them were too young to recognise the two former convicts.

"I'm a grandfather now," said Lucius, "first and foremost. I find myself quite finished with politics, so if that's where you need help...?"

Severus put two sugars in his cup. "I was attacked the other day," he said. "They burned down my house and tried to kill me."

"Is that so?" Lucius blew on his tea. "This is curious. Selwyn's house burned down not two weeks ago. They said it was an accident."

"Really? Is he alright?"

"He died."

A chill went down Severus' spine. Were the vigilantes were targeting ex-Death Eaters? "Did they report it to the Aurors?"

"The Aurors?" Lucius snorted. "Don't be daft."

"No, of course not." Severus watched Scorpius as he played with two spoons, enacting a wizard's duel. If Selwyn had been killed, it might mean he had not been able to access his magic properly. It was time to find out.

He held out the last sugar cube. "Lucius, would you mind transfiguring a napkin?"

The hard, calculating look he got was answer enough, but he had to make sure. "Can you do magic at all?" he asked. "What of the dark arts?"

Lucius nodded once, casting a wary look around the shop. "Only those. You as well?"

"Yes."

"Did the Dark Lord curse us?"

"I don't know."

They sat for a while, lost in thought, watching as the yellow plastic spoon suffered a fatal curse from the bigger pink one, and crumpled on the table top.

"I'm indebted to Potter."

Lucius' eyes widened. "Really? What on Earth does _he_ want?"

Severus shook his head. "I can't talk of it."

"You've taken a vow again, haven't you?" Lucius' mood was restored, and he grinned with off-white teeth. "You have to stop doing that, Severus. It's rapidly becoming a bad habit."

Severus scowled. "Don't I know?"

"I _did_ appreciate your last one, though," said Lucius, sober, "Narcissa as well. Come on. How bad can it be? It's only Potter, isn't it?"

Severus' widened his eyes in mock horror. "Could it possibly be worse?"

Lucius grinned. "He named his second son after you, you know. You could try and show some appreciation."

Severus' left eye twitched. "That's preposterous!"

"Are you telling me you don't know?" Lucius laughed outright. "Don't you read _The Daily Prophet_?"

As they left Florean's a few minutes later and headed down Diagon Alley in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron, the street was busy with afternoon shoppers. They kept to the shadows, trying to avoid unwanted attention. Lucius raised his hood.

Outside of Olivander's, a passer-by knocked into Severus' shoulder, making Scorpius startle, and grab Lucius' hand.

"Death Eater scum!"

They hurried through the enchanted brick wall where Lucius called upon an elf to apparate them home. Suddenly longing for the anonymity of the muggle world, Severus gratefully accepted the offer of a ride back to Hermione's flat.


	8. Chapter 8

8\. The enemy's lair

Severus stood in the bathroom after having spent another night on 'his' sofa at Hermione's place. He slept well here for some reason. Better than at home in Spinner's End, despite Dizzy's insistence that his hair needed preening at two AM.

After meeting with Lucius yesterday, he came home to an empty flat, to find a note explaining that Hermione had gotten an emergency floo-call from Potter. He hadn't seen head nor tail of her since.

He'd spent the entire morning in bed, unrepentant, resting his right foot which was still somewhat painful. Admittedly, it had not been a very productive day so far, but it had given him ample time to think.

He looked down on his left arm. The dark mark had been asleep ever since that fateful May day in '98 when the Dark Lord died. The snake no longer moved, and it hadn't caused him physical pain for over twelve years. It was faded and grey now, yet unmistakeably there, reminding him of all the times he'd felt imprisoned by it, as if caught with a snare around his arm.

Little was known about the magic that went into its making. The Dark Lord had created it, and he was fairly certain that there was some kind of binding-spell on it. There was no other way that he knew of, that would allow the Dark Lord to cause his servants pain through a protean charm.

He was also certain now, that the mark was the cause for his loss of magic. Or rather, his inability to access anything but _dark_ magic. It was the logical conclusion after learning that the other Death Eaters had probably suffered the same fate.

He would have to tell Potter this, eventually. He was nearly useless in this state... but that also meant he'd have to tell Hermione.

He sighed. For some reason the thought rubbed him the wrong way. He much preferred that she didn't know about it. Not that he had any wild delusions about her seeing him as some poor misunderstood saint. No, she was too clever for that. All the same though, to reveal to her just how much control that mark had over his life would not be painless.

Was there a way to get rid of it instead? This had been one of his greatest wishes once, and he'd attempted it, long ago. He'd tried many a spell; both sound and sordid. He'd even invented a variety of the _evanesco_ that had later proven to be highly useful for removing spoilt parts from potion ingredients. The Dark Lord's magic though, had always been tenacious. As far as he knew, none of the Death Eaters had ever succeeded in removing the mark. If they had, no one had deigned to inform him about it.

He decided to hold off telling Potter and Hermione the truth as long as possible. Perhaps another solution would come up.

He picked up his new toothbrush from Sainsbury's and after a moment's deliberation, decided to borrow some of Hermione's whitening toothpaste. He squinted at the small writing on the back of it, snorting through his nose. 'For Extra White Teeth and Cavity Prevention'.

He squeezed out enough of the substance to completely cover the head of his brush. It was probably akin to a piss in the ocean, but it certainly wouldn't hurt him.

Suddenly, a loud crack from the living room startled him so that he dropped the brush. It clattered noisily down into the sink, spilling toothpaste everywhere.

He whirled around, the image of magical flames vivid to his inner eye, and his heart did not calm until his wand lay steadily in his palm. He noiselessly opened the bathroom door a tiny fraction, _sectumsempra_ ready on his lips.

"…sure he's even her, Hermione?"

The voice was male, and vaguely familiar.

"Relax, he's in the bathroom."

He'd recognise _her_ voice anywhere. A sigh of relief escaped him and he took the time to dress properly before nudging the door open with his shoulder.

Hermione looked tired. Her hair was untidy and she had dark rings under her eyes, but her smile when she saw him was radiant. It drove his tattered heart into a leap, and he nearly failed to notice the other person in the room.

When he did, he almost had to squint his eyes against the row of large, symmetrical teeth, and the crimson Auror robe, which clashed horribly with the red-orange hair.

"Do you recognise me, Mr. Snape?" Ronald Weasley's voice was friendly, and he held out a strong hand. "It's been a long time. How are you holding up?"

Severus cast his eyes briefly towards Hermione, who smiled encouragingly.

Of course he remembered Weasley. But absurdly, he only just now recalled that _this_ man, not Potter, had been Hermione's unrequited love in school.

 _That_ idea struck a hidden cord in him, and he suddenly felt wrong-footed.

The long-standing antipathy he held against Aurors did nothing to ease his disquiet, and his gut-instinct to strike first against that which threatened him kicked in.

He felt his lip curl in contempt.

"An Auror, Weasley." He knew just where to prick the needle so that it would sting. "How _typical_ of Potter's little sidekick."

Weasley retreated his hand, the surprise in his eye quickly giving way to anger, then put-upon indifference.

Hermione's look of crestfallen disappointment made Severus grit his teeth but there was no turning back now, and he just couldn't seem to help himself.

"I certainly hope you are better at your work than the 'Acceptable' you received in Defence suggested." He clasped his hands behind his back, feigning composure. "Or perhaps the standards of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement are not what they once were…"

"Severus!" Hermione looked up at him with murder in her eyes, and it took the practice of all of his years as a double agent to suppress the wince that threatened to escape.

 _Well done, Severus! What are we, in Primary School? Christ._

"Enough." Hermione huffed and rounded on him fiercely. "Ronald has brought us vital information and we need to act upon it immediately. As adults." She pointed her finger at his chest. "He also is my friend, Severus, and deserves to be treated with respect."

Her reaction caught him off-guard, though it really shouldn't have. Usually though, whenever he was grumpy or unreasonable, she would tease him about it, putting him in his place simply by telling him what a surly old bat he was. The anger directed at him as she defended her former flame threw him.

Weasley nodded, signalling his willingness to move onward. Severus knew that Hermione probably expected him to apologise, but as he looked into the accepting blue eyes, pettiness won out.

"Fine." He drawled lazily as he stuck his nose in the air, well aware that Weasley was the bigger man.

Hermione shook her head, exasperated. "We need to get to Yorkshire. Quickly. Harry is expecting us. There has been some progress on our mission." She took hold of his arm, with a little more force than was strictly necessary, then nodded to Weasley and twisted her body, dragging Severus along with her.

All he had time to think about after that, was that he was glad he'd had the presence of mind to don his cape.

They appeared in an empty meadow, close to a dilapidated barn. Nearby was a deserted farmhouse in equally run-down shape. The dead grass was long and yellow, and heavy October clouds cloaked the world in different shades of grey.

Potter was there, dressed in all black, along with five red-cloaked figures. A concealment charm protected the entire area where they stood, potent enough that two rabbits were peacefully digging the earth just outside its barrier.

Severus turned to whisper in Hermione's ear. "Why are there Aurors?" He could not quite keep the unease from his voice, and the last syllable sounded exceedingly sibilant.

"They're here to make an arrest for us." Hermione released his arm and waved to Potter. "Ron received information from an anonymous source yesterday evening, saying that the headquarters of the Vigilantes are inside of this barn."

Potter approached them. "We've verified the source." He adjusted his owlish spectacles. "Their leader supposedly lives here. If they can arrest him, we'll have the means necessary to stop this madness."

Severus eyed Dumbledore's old wand as Potter aimed it towards the farmhouse, his nonverbal _homenum revelio_ easily scanning an area of at least a thousand acres. Being so close to the source of the strong magic, they all glowed a brilliant blue, and Potter's cheeks turned slightly pink when several eyebrows rose in his direction.

"Someone's in there all right." He signalled to Weasley. "Just one person. If you act quickly, you can take him by surprise. It is imperative that we get him into custody in one piece." He turned to Hermione. "Hermione. Snape. We will wait here until the Aurors have him. Then we'll have an opportunity to search the house."

Weasley stepped forward. "Disillusionment charms, everyone!"

The Aurors split into two groups before disappearing from sight. Weasley alone remained visible, and he slid his wand up his sleeve before starting toward the front door.

"Is that entirely safe?" Said Severus, more because he found this behaviour unnecessarily brash than out of concern for Weasley.

"Don't worry, Snape." Potter slapped his shoulder once and he grunted with displeasure. "Like I said before, the war is over. Besides, we have his back just fine from here."

This was probably true, considering Potter's prowess. The door opened after Weasley's polite knock, revealing a short and slight man in his late twenties with mousey brown hair. Severus was unable to make out his facial features, but from his left, he heard Hermione gasp.

Potter stepped forward as far as the concealment charm allowed him, straining to get a better look.

"Harry, it's Dennis!" Said Hermione, who obviously had the sharpest eyes of the three. "Dennis Creevey, Colin's little brother."

"Yes, I see it now," said Potter, as several Aurors appeared out of thin air around the young man, effectively relieving him of his wand.

Severus vaguely remembered having taught someone bearing that name. They had not been among his Slytherins though, and further details eluded him. He was about to walk closer when Potter held out an arm, stopping him.

"Don't." He retreated his hand when Severus scowled. "I don't think he should see us together just yet."

"Hm."

Potter then drew himself up, face determined, and exited the enchanted space.

Severus knew this was his chance to try and put things to right. He turned to Hermione. "With what I said earlier, Hermione, to Weasley. I know I was out of line."

"Well, quite," she said, frowning up at him, "it was rather rude, you know. Whatever made you attack him like that? Unprovoked, might I add."

Severus grimaced. "He's an _Auror_ …"

Her raised eyebrow told him that this was not sufficient as an explanation, but it was all he was ready to reveal of himself.

"Forgive me?"

She sighed, but smiled crookedly a few beats later. "Yes, you git. I suppose so. But you should really apologise to _Ron…"_

He was saved from answering that, as a commotion from behind made Hermione tilt her head to look around his shoulder. He turned quickly, grateful to escape from the difficult conversation.

"…expected more from the man who vanquished Voldemort! Do you even know what his followers did to my family? To Colin?"

The agitated voice belonged to Creevey, who was being held tightly by Weasley. Potter shook his head, gesturing to the Aurors to take the prisoner away.

"He was killed in the final battle," said Hermione from Severus' right side. "Colin Creevey, that is. Their parents tried to hide in the muggle world, but I suppose it must have ended badly for them as well."

"Indeed."

When Weasley and his men had left, Potter raised a hand to remove his concealment charm and gestured them over. They started their investigation in the barn.

It consisted of a large room filled with low benches, arranged in a circular pattern with an open space in the middle.

"Creevey is their front-runner," said Potter, as they walked the perimeter of the room, "but he doesn't exactly strike me as the leader type, at least not what I remember from school."

"Quite," agreed Hermione, "but look at the way this room is laid out. This organisation doesn't look like it's lead by dictatorship, does it?"

She was right. There were no obvious place in the room where a person of higher rank would stand out from the crowd. From the flyers and banners spread around in disorder, it seemed more like a club for rebellious teenagers than a violent terrorist group.

There was nothing more of interest in the barn, and so they moved on to search the house.

Almost everything inside was muggle, from the electricity to the modern microwave in the kitchen. The house was neat and tidy, with everything a young man needed to go about his daily life. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and Severus and Potter had spent the good part of an hour, fruitlessly going through the bookshelves and crates in the small office when Hermione's voice called them from the living room.

She was sitting on the brown leather sofa, with a small, thin object on her lap, which he soon understood was a modern computer. "Look here," she pointed at the little screen, "I found an archive over their activities. This is it, Harry, this is all we need!"

They sat down beside her, and she started to pull up document upon document containing everything from rebellious propaganda to detailed plans of blackmailing and corruption of Ministry officers.

"Wait," said Severus, "what's that one?" He pointed at an icon with Selwyn's name on it.

Hermione opened the document. It was a description of Selwyn's house, his work, his friends and his habits. At the bottom of the document was typed a neat 'Completed'.

"So they _did_ kill him."

"He is dead?" Asked Hermione. "How do you know?"

"Lucius Malfoy told me. I cannot testify to it myself, obviously, but Lucius is the biggest gossip I know of. No matter what happens, he is always the first to know."

"I suppose there must be a similar file with your name on it." It gratified him that Hermione sounded worried.

She scrolled further down, finding not only his own, but several other planned assassinations, most of them directed against former Death Eaters or politicians of the old, conservative sort.

" _Yes_ ," said Potter when they had looked through a few files pertaining to high-profile members of the Wizengamot. One of them had been reported missing six months prior; two others were as of yet unexplained deaths. " _Finally_. We have them now."

Hermione closed the 'lid' on the odd computer. "Yes, Harry. I believe you're right. This evidence is court valid." She patted the thing, and put it inside her bottomless purse. "We can give them all to Ron on a silver platter."

Severus frowned. "Exactly how is this going to help you arrest an entire organisation?" He asked, confused. "I can see that you have Creevey framed, but won't it be nearly impossible to find all of the other members? Not least to prove their link to Creevey and this archive?"

Potter and Hermione exchanged a look that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"Snape," said Potter seriously, "we need to talk. I suggest we all go back to the office."

Somehow, Severus knew that this was not a conversation he was going to enjoy.

 **A/N**

 **I wanted to give you a wicked,** ** _female_** **bad guy. Badly. Unfortunately, Google failed to dig up one with the appropriate background, and I refuse to revive Moaning Myrtle (who is too blubbering, and old-fashioned and just… no). Dennis was muggleborn, young, and his brother died, so there. Sorry, Creevey.**

 **If you know of a young muggleborn witch with a grudge against the wizarding world, enlighten me, and I will happily change this.**

 **And thank you, thank you, for reading and reviewing. You are all so clever, and loyal, and sweet. Your time and thoughts are precious gems.**


	9. Chapter 9

9\. A devious plan

They landed in a room in the Department of Mysteries, which was so crowded with books and scrolls that it was a miracle that all three of them could fit into it.

There were no places for plants or ugly tablecloths here; every surface of every desk, windowsill and chair was dedicated to work. The room was quite large, but the clutter, along with the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made it confined and stuffy, and though Potter's side-along apparation was as smooth as humanly possible, their arrival sent loose paper flying in every direction.

Severus jumped, upsetting a tall stack of books, when he turned around to see a corkboard on the wall, which held two life-size pictures of the Dark Mark.

From the numerous muggle pencils and ballpoint pens on the desk, which all sported frayed ends with bite marks, he had already deduced that this room was Hermione's office.

Slowly, he turned to face her, the sense of foreboding in his gut mixing with an odd feeling of betrayal.

"We will explain everything," she said quickly, looking at Harry with some apprehension. It occurred to him then, that she, like all Unspeakables, was sworn to silence.

"Sit, Snape," Potter continued, "please. This may take some time but I must implore you to hear us out till the end," he rubbed a hand over his forehead, "regardless of your feelings on the matter. It is of importance to you, personally."

If he was nervous before, Potter's words had the opposite effect of soothing him. But he did as he was told, pulling a pile of scrolls into his lap to free up space on a chair by the door. Potter transfigured a surprisingly uncomfortable-looking bench, and then flicked his wand again, impatiently, turning it into two squashy armchairs. Hermione sat down in the one closest to him, folding her hands tightly in her lap.

"Now, Snape," Potter said, crossing one leg over the other, "you know already that the Vigilantes wants to throw the government. And though our view is not far from theirs, we feel keenly the danger of exposing the wizarding world too quickly."

"We must try to eradicate the prejudice against muggles first," interjected Hermione, "but also make sure that fear and distrust in both words are kept to a minimum. We already know where misconceptions and feelings of superiority might lead."

Severus nodded. He understood the sentiments, could even agree upon them to a certain extent, though the idea of exposure in itself was foreign.

Potter got up, seemingly with a desire to pace the office. However, the two large chairs were occupying the lion's share of the floor, and the shortage of space prevented him. Dissatisfied, he sat back down. "Now here's what the media won't tell you," he said, gesturing with his hands instead, "and it's why this case lies with us, and not with the Aurors. Even Minister Mair doesn't know the full extent of it."

Potter pointed at the corkboard, and Severus turned his head, discerning that one of the Dark Marks pinned in place, was in fact not a Dark Mark at all.

"For some time now, Hermione has researched Voldemort's Dark Mark. You see, the Vigilantes also carry magical brands."

Severus twitched slightly, involuntarily touching his left forearm.

"You said some days ago that the one who attacked you was branded?" asked Hermione.

"I thought so…," said Severus, eyes still on the two pictures on the wall. One was the Dark Lord's familiar skull and snake, the other, though similar in size, was merely a shapeless blob of ink.

"He was," said Potter, "I saw it for myself when I disposed of the body. Now Snape, listen. Hermione is our expert on spells and charms, and her specialities are the magics that bind and enslave."

Severus turned towards her sharply. Never had he thought that the compassionate and righteous Hermione would spend her career on such atrocities.

Potter apparently saw his mind. "She got here from researching the compelling magic that binds house-elves," he explained. "Though it's a bit of a leap, the mechanics of all such spells have proven to be quite similar." He nodded in Hermione's direction. "But I think it might be best that she explain it herself."

"Yes," she looked at Severus intently, bushy hair on end around her head, like a jagged halo. "We've found a way to stop the Vigilantes, Severus. We can use their brands against them; I only need to do some tests on your Dark Mark, just to make sure that my theory is sound."

Severus' eyes widened. "You want to use me as your guinea pig?"

"Nothing of the sort," said Potter forcefully. "We only ask permission to cast a few diagnostic spells, so that we can be certain that our plan of attack will work."

The emphasis that this was a polite request only served as a reminder that he was as bound to Potter's whims in this matter, as any house-elf to its owner.

"Is that all, _Master_?" He said icily.

"Listen, please," said Hermione urgently, "there's more. For one, I think they are using similar magic to that which Voldemort used to create the Dark Mark."

Severus frowned. "How can you be sure?"

Hermione blushed. "Because I've studied their mark once, on a convict... and because I think that in part, they got the idea from me."

A bark of laughter escaped him, despite the Hermione's apparent remorse. She blushed even harder.

"I don't know if you remember," she said, "but in school, the year Umbridge was Headmaster,-" Severus snorted irritably.

"That year," she continued, "we had this secret defence group," her lip quirked slightly, as she lost herself in remembrance, "it was a protest movement really; the curriculum that year was horrendous, never mind the textbook. It was-"

"The point is," interrupted Potter, throwing off the impending lecture, "that Hermione used the protean charm to alert the DA members of the time and place of our meetings. Knowing that Dennis Creevey is both a former member of the DA, and the head Vigilante, it seems reasonable to that this is where he got the idea."

"And where did _you_ get the idea?" Severus couldn't resist baiting her.

"The Death Eaters of course." Hermione was once again serious. "Now, this is not common knowledge, but the Dark Mark is also made from a protean charm. It's human adapted, so that it allows both the master object, and the clones to be attached to a person. Voldemort though, added to this a binding spell, which allowed him some control over his followers. He was able to give you pain through the mark, yes?"

Severus looked down on his left arm. "Yes."

"This is because Voldemort used his own sigil, the _morsmordre_ , as part of the object that linked the Death Eaters to him." Hermione pointed at him. "When directed at a living being, the _morsmordre_ is an invasive curse. Its purpose is to control and infect the magic of those who wear it. It enslaves, but also seeks to spread out. I'm pretty certain this is why you've had trouble accessing your magic since his death."

So they really _were_ cursed by the Dark Lord? Just not in the way that he'd imagined. The rush of blood in Severus' ears nearly deafened him against Potter's next words.

"Now the vigilante's marks are simpler," Potter continued. "They don't have a lord, and are not magically bound. But they do use the protean charm to get in touch with each other. Our idea is to try to infect their master object. That way, we can gain some control over them, and can arrest them all in one swift stroke."

"I need to study your mark to be sure," said Hermione, "but if the _morsmordre_ is made part of the Vigilante's master object, I believe it will spread on its own, passing to all of the linked objects, and binding them, much like the Death Eaters."

Their plan was downright devious. Severus understood now, why the Minister of Magic was kept in the dark. "You'll need to find the master object first."

"We think we already have it," said Potter. "It's Dennis Creevey's mark."

"You intend to cast _morsmordre_ on Creevey?" Severus was shaken. There were no love lost between him and the terrorists who had tried to kill him, yet cursing a young man with the Dark Lord's magic seemed downright ghastly.

"If you do, won't that only give him control over his own comrades? Are you going to threaten him at wand point into summoning them?"

"You're exactly right." Potter said. He was standing up now, his hair spiking in all directions. "It will be illegal to cast _morsmordre_ , and it can't be done on Creevey. But Hermione has created a variety of the Appellation spell. With this, we think we can transfer the master object to a new location."

Were these two insane? "To counter the original protean charm would take extraordinary power," said Severus. "And in any case, if you use _morsmordre_ , you are going to target all of the old Death Eaters as well. I'm certainly not going to help you."

Potter's waved his arms up and down in exasperation. "I already told you, Snape, I don't need you to do any magic!"

"Harry can do it," interrupted Hermione. "We've already done test transfers on coins."

"Coins," said Severus flatly.

"Yes." Potter said. "We hope that by transferring the master object onto your Dark Mark, Voldemort's sigil will infect and command the Vigilantes. It will link them to you, and then, we can lure them into a trap and-"

" _My_ Dark Mark?" Severus was horrified. "You'll make _me_ into their dark lord!"

"Not _you._ " Potter stood tall. "And _not_ _dark_." He pointed at his own chest. " _Me_. Through your mark. _That_ is why I needed you to pledge your service."

Numbly, Severus stood up from his chair, scattering scrolls and loose paper onto the floor, and left the office. He barely heard Hermione's softly spoken "Let him go, Harry," before the door closed behind him. As with a will of their own, his feet brought him to the elevators leading to the Atrium. From there, he exited through the visitor's entrance, not wasting as much as a single glance towards the receptionist.

He could understand now, why this mission had to be kept quiet, and why it resided with the Unspeakables rather than with the Aurors. Never had he imagined that Hermione could be this ruthless, and if word of this got out, Potter's fall from grace would be hard. He knew not whether the boy was incredibly brave or incredibly foolish, but he knew for certain that he wanted no part of it.

He walked all the way, reaching Euston just in time for the five o'clock to Manchester, and he did not think it was unforgiveable, that it cost him an _imperio,_ or two, to make sure that he was left alone for the time that it took before the train reached its destination.


End file.
